The Witch Within
by SummerRed
Summary: Morgana takes a long, hard look in the mirror, and finds she doesn't like what's staring back at her.


Don't own Merlin or any of its characters.

This doesn't really link to any episode in particular, just post-series four.

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><p><strong>The Witch Within<strong>

Morgana stared straight into the cracked glass, her eyes cold, jaw set. The jagged lines splintered her face, leaving one side beautiful, the other shattered.

It had been a long time since she had seen her own reflection. She had always told herself it was because of the life she had lived with Morgause, caring for her sister, travelling around in the wilderness.

The truth she never allowed herself to think was that she was too afraid of what she would find waiting for her in the mirror.

She wondered if anyone else would look at her and notice the difference, see the tautness of her skin, the shadows lurking beneath her eyes, her tangled hair; all signs of her new identity.

_One word, _spat a voice in her mind. _Just one word. _

She closed her eyes quickly, banishing the thought before it could complete itself.

She always thought the word would be _evil, _even though she was not evil, she couldn't be; everything she did was selfless, for the magical population at large, not for her. Never for her.

And this was what she told herself every day; she was almost beginning to believe it.

She smiled and opened her eyes.

Instead of a smile, she saw a sneer.  
>And still her reflection stared back at her.<p>

How far the Lady Morgana had fallen.

Killer of her own kin, enemy of Camelot, the daughter who broke her father's heart, the sister who was despised by the only brother she would ever have.

She could almost feel her blood boil as she thought of Arthur, her mind turning to the thought of his marriage to-

She stood up abruptly, pacing across the stone floor, her dress sweeping gracefully behind her as she marched to the window, throwing it open to allow the icy air into the room.

It scared her, how ready and willing she was to kill Gwen, all in the name of power.

The throne was rightfully hers, why should she feel guilt for ridding Camelot of a false queen whilst she, the true heir to the throne, still lived and fought for it?

Gwen deserved everything that was coming to her.

So did Arthur. They deserved each other. And therefore both deserved the same fate.

Again that small voice in her mind niggled at her, whispering things she didn't want to think about.

Mainly because the calm, reasonable voice sounded a lot like Merlin's.

Morgana hissed, the candles behind her flaring up at her anger.

She took a deep breath, ignoring how the cold air bit at her throat, in a bid to silence her mind.

The candles' flames lowered, once again lighting the room dimly.

_Gwen didn't __**choose **__to fall in love with Arthur, _it murmured softly, _no one chooses who they fall in love with. _

She wouldn't know; she had never loved.

And now she would never have the chance.

And in that bitterly cold room, Morgana began to hurt for what she had lost, and for what she had left to lose.

Because there was nothing left; she was hollow. The only thing she had to lose was her heart beating.

And when that moment finally occurred no one would care, no one would bow their head in sorrow, or cry over her body, or beg for her life to be spared, or even have a pleasant memory to share about her.

Her death would be rejoiced, celebrations would be thrown throughout Camelot.

But she would be free.

Moving back to the shattered mirror, Morgana sat down in front of the whole half, her posture regal, as though posing for a portrait, head held high, shoulders back, face expressionless.

Lady Morgana was dead, gone the moment Morgause had fled Camelot with her in her arms; she had been kind, a loyal friend, a true warrior, a believer in fighting for what was right.

But Merlin had destroyed her then, poisoning her body as her hate for Uther would later poison her soul.

She shifted to the side slightly, her reflection becoming fractured and disfigured, a spidery web of cracks dancing across her face.

Morgana the Witch-or Morgan le Fey, as she had heard she was now being called-was a broken creature, driven by hate and resentment, a murderer, a liar, cruel, cold, feared, hated.

The list was endless.

But it could all be summed up into one small word that would never be false, not matter how many times she told herself otherwise.

Evil.

She was evil and she would never be saved.

She would fight for her life, for her entire life, and forever be thwarted by Emrys.

And then at the end of it he would kill her, her new life ended as easily as Merlin had finished her former.

Deep in the darkest pits of her soul, she hoped that end would come soon.

In that broken mirror, a broken girl was reflected, one lonely tear trickling down her cheek, its path disrupted by the cracks.

She did not cry because her plan had once again been thwarted, nor did she cry from her fear of Emrys, nor her feelings over her talk with Arthur.

Instead, the tear, the one tear she would ever allow to fall, was for herself; for her past, for her future, for her fate.

The broken girl's blue eyes were still clear, gaze icy and hard as stone, and in those eyes was her true nature, revealed when nothing else was left, forcing her to finally accept what she had fought so hard against.

In her mind, the word _evil _was synonymous with another, one she abhorred.

She could no longer pretend she was just magic, or even a sorceress or enchantress; she had no choice in the matter, probably hadn't since birth.

What she was had been written in the stars since time began, a pre-planned path just waiting for her when she wandered off the straight and narrow.

And all because of those eyes, those cold, blue eyes that glared right back at her, the truth staring her right in the face.

Those eyes showed the witch within.


End file.
